


Ghost stories of Revachol

by VigilantMankind



Category: Disco Elysium (Video Game)
Genre: Other, POV Second Person, mention of drugs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-06-05
Updated: 2020-06-05
Packaged: 2021-03-04 03:02:25
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,073
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24546601
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/VigilantMankind/pseuds/VigilantMankind
Summary: What suits you more, Harry boy, than sitting around a campfire and drinking with three homeless drunks?When Revachol is deep in sleep, Idiot Doom Spiral shares with you two ghost stories. Well, without real ghosts.
Comments: 3
Kudos: 3





	Ghost stories of Revachol

"Do you have more stories?" "Do you have more booze?" You silently take out two coins and throw them towards Rosemary. The old man reaches into a large sack by his side, searching, making a few "ding" sounds. The sounds raise a drunk moaning from the concrete pipe: "Don't call Abigail. Don't… call Abigail." "Nobody is calling Abigail." Rosemary pats the concrete pipe reassuringly and passes a bottle to Doom Spiral. Tilting the bottle upside down, Doom Spiral takes a deep drink. Then he buries his head so deep, almost into the campfire. The shadow the fire casts is blue. Doom Spiral looks into the fire like a wizard seeking prophecy. Finally, he lifts his eyes: "Want a story of Filippe II?"

Filippe II. His name makes you swallow. The piles of red cocaine. In your mind, you see the hungry opening of the drained coal mine. Those narrow tunnels, filled with hundreds of little rats, reach deeper into the earth, beyond the coal mine itself. The kings of Revachol sleep in this heart of darkness. Surrounded by their subjects, their flesh is rotting slowly in their gold.

"Enough of those communicating with higher being through cocaine bullshit." Rosemary stretches his arms wide open: "For the sake of the booze, say something new." In response, Doom Spiral forcefully swings his arm at him: "What do you know, old man?" Then he leans towards you, presses the top of the bottle against his lips, and lower his voice: "What I'm about to say is not bullshit. It's something more spectral than the spectral hands of the market." He infects you with his seriousness. You lean towards him and answer in a similar conspiratory voice: "Let's share the stories of the ghosts."

Content, Doom Spiral leans back on the large sack. Licking his upper lip, he starts: "Those talks about higher being are for idiots. The true use of cocaine for the king was to create things out of nothingness." He pauses, waiting for you to ask. You say nothing. Then he continues: "When the king was high, if he focused his thought on something, that thing came into existence out of nowhere. That's why he laid his head on piles of gold. It helped him thought of more gold." He takes another sip: "This is something you Mazovian can't understand -- desires determine materials. We businessmen know this… Then one day, one disastrous day! When he was high, the king visualized what he feared the most. Pauper, dirty poor pauper, standing right next to him, reaching towards his gold. When he woke up, before he could order the execution of all the poor, you know what?"

"What?" You didn't realize how close Doom Spiral has got. Nose to nose, his teeth shine in the darkness: "From the cocaine fantasy of the king?" You suddenly pull back, and he laughs: "The Revolution! Revachol Commune!"

The Revolution. This word gives you shiver. In your mind, you can see something -- skinny, raggedy, roaming in those dark tunnels, devouring those little rats. "There is something in the coal mine tunnels, chasing those scavenger kids… I see it!" "You see it… now?" Rosemary stares at you, his eyes twice as large as they used to be. He is concerned about your mental status. Doom Spiral waves nonchalantly: "I know what you saw. This story is on the house." His hand reaches into the sack he is leaning on, but Rosemary slaps it away. Doom Spiral shrugs, licking the top of the now-empty bottle: "What you saw was ghoul of the Commune."

"Ghoul of the commune…?" "Yeah," he repeats in smug satisfaction, as if savoring the words: "Ghoul of the Commune." "Nonsense again." Rosemary grunts: "Even an idiot knows that those tunnels are dug by treasure hunters to find Filippe II's gold. They hire kids because only those little rats can squeeze into the tunnels." "You really don't know anything, old man." Doom Spiral turns to you instead, his eyes glowing with unnatural light: "Let me tell you, lawman. After the Revolution failed, some Commune members hid into the tunnels. At that time, the tunnels were just for mining. Those Commune members, they blamed their failure on the corrupted past of Revachol. They thought a bright future could only be achieved when the past was completely eliminated. That's why they dug deeper, trying to find the tombs of the kings. Those treasure hunters are a much later thing."

"Well," Rosemary unwillingly admits that he is attracted by this story: "What were they going to do with those tombs?" "Eat them!" Doom Spiral laughs neurotically again: "They thought the only way to fully eliminate the past was to eat them. All of them, the corpses, the gold." He mockingly salutes you: "All hail to the great Mazov. Material determines consciousness." 

You want to refute, but this ultimate materialism chokes you. Doom Spiral goes on: "But the more they ate, the more they became the past. They even decided to eat everyone that was contaminated by the past. That's how they became ghouls. You can still hear them now, in those abandoned tunnels, sincerely chanting 'for the future of Revachol'. The Coalition sees this as a joke, plus the mine is drained now, so no one has been sent to clean them out."

Doom Spiral's story ends. He blows a breath into the empty bottle, greedily sniffing in the smell of alcohol his breath blows out. Rosemary stares blankly into the darkness, lost in the story. When you finally manage to say something, you ask: "How do you know all that?" Doom Spiral grins. He doesn't answer your question but says: "At its most feverish, some suggested eating the Pale. The pure, material form of the past. But the more they ate, the more the Pale grew from them. From here." He points at his chest: "Literally creating the history."

His grin widens. Those white teeth reflect the light of the campfire. You feel sick, like something is going out of your chest as well. It starts snowing. Those white dust fall on the empty openings of the coal mine as they fall into the campfire in front of you, making a faint cracking sound. Like the sound from an old telephone wire.

You stand up. Both Doom Spiral and Rosemary are buried in their silence. From the concrete pipe, because of your sudden movement, a moaning comes again: "Don't… Don't call Abigail…"


End file.
